Defying Gravity
by caffeineandcrayons
Summary: Kurt, a vogue stylist, has been left a grieving single father. Blaine is struggling actor who works as a nanny in between theatre jobs. AU, eventual Kurt/Blaine with mentions of Kurt/Karofsky and Rachel/Finn.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow, angsty fic is angsty. When dealing with your own grief, I find it therapeutic to take it out on fictional characters *shrug* but it will become less so as the chapters progress.

Also: hello, I'm English! If any Brit spellings have sneaked in, I do apologise.  
As always, reviews are welcomed with open arms.

* * *

1.

Kurt wasn't there, but that doesn't mean he can't see it. Picture it oh-so-exactly, what hit where and when.

How when the car went through the red light, and hit the side of the taxi. The amount of force it must have hit with, to shatter the window's glass and turn the door into a crumbled mess, resembling tinfoil.  
How when it hit, there was only that thin sheet of metal between the car and the passenger.  
How hard it must have hit to rupture internal organs, shatter his shoulder and destroy all the bones of his right leg. How the glass must have fallen like shining, jagged hailstones and embed their shards into the passengers face, neck, any exposed skin.  
The sickening sound of his spine, jolted too hard, snapping like a twig. The bones, left to grate against each other as the vehicle spun out of control across the street, ending up crashing into the side of a restaurant, killing the both drivers instantly.

Nothing can be as bad as Kurt's imagination. If he'd been in that taxi, things would have been better. For one thing, he wouldn't have to picture it anymore; he'd just know.

Another; David, ever the gentleman always opened doors for him, would have opened the taxi door and let him get in first, sliding along to the right, to the side that the car hit hardest. If he'd been there, maybe... Maybe David would have survived. And that would have been infinitely better than leaving Kurt alone.

It's Rachel who walks him home from the hospital. She won't let him get in a taxi and she won't let him go anywhere alone. "Just in case, Kurt." She says, "I just want you to be safe."  
Which he knows is code for _I don't want you to kill yourself._

"I'm too busy for anything to happen to me." He says, "Adele needs picking up from school in an hour. I have to… Work tomorrow."

"Finn's already told me to tell you he'll get her. And you cannot go to work. I'll kill you if you do." She winces at her choice of words. As if a word like that is going to hurt him._ Rupture_, and_ snap_, and _fracture_ hurt so much more.

"I-I'm s-"

"It's fine. Tell Finn I said thank you."

Outside his building, Rachel looks at him with wide, nervous eyes. "Do you- Should I come up?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Much as I appreciate it Rachel, I think I need to be on my own for a while okay?"  
She hesitates before she lets him go up the dozen steps and disappear into the lobby inside.

* * *

Their apartment is exactly as they left it. Still _their_ apartment. There's a coffee mug on the table, with a few last cold dregs in the bottom and a half eaten slice of toast from breakfast. A pair of Adele's tiny, now dry socks over the radiator. Dishes stacked up in the kitchen. And in every room, photographs, just one or two, all with meticulously dusted frames. Adele eating her first ice cream. First day at school. David pushing her on a swing. And the largest one, in the lounge, them on their wedding day. Kurt in a pale grey suit, and Marc Jacobs shirt. David in darker colours, and a look on his face as if he was expecting to wake up any second. The entire apartment smells like clean laundry and aftershave.

Kurt only just manages to make it to the toilet before he throws up. He's not eaten all day and the acid burns his throat.

When he thinks he's done and stands up, catches sight of a blue glass bottle of Jean Paul Gautier, and retches again. It stings his eyes, and he welcomes it.

He's there for half an hour before he finds the strength to drag himself into the bedroom. It's the bed that hurts him the most. More than seeing the aftershave he bought David as a Christmas present, more than the half-eaten toast and photographs. Its dark sheets are tangled in a way Kurt would usually loathe. Nagging David to make the bed if he got up last was a weekly event that never quite sunk in permanently. But today, he can see how the sheets tell a story. David's last morning. How they must have creased _here_ when he rolled over onto his side, how the sheet tugged in _that_ corner when he stood. There's still a dent in the pillow.

Kurt does the only thing left that makes any sense. He crawls into bed, and stays there.

* * *

"Kurt? Are you in here?!"

Is this his fault? Once, he might have wished David wasn't here. Not wished him dead but… In high school it was no secret they hated each other. Dave had made his life a misery. Kurt might have never wished him dead, but he certainly wished he wasn't around anymore.

But that was before- before… David had come out and moved schools after an attempted suicide when all his jock 'friends' on the football team turned against him. Kurt had been stunned and sympathetic. Of course he'd agreed to be David's friend after that, he'd been so determined that he should never go through something like that alone, no matter what he'd done in the past. Even after Kurt moved to New York to pursue a career in fashion, and David had gone to California to study sports and events management, they'd kept in touch. An email, a phone call every couple of weeks.

They stayed that way for five years._ Five years_. Distance keeping them from physically meeting, but still talking. And Kurt enjoyed talking to him. David was smarter than he'd thought, like he'd been dumbing himself down deliberately to fit in with his 'friends' all along. He was funny, and he was incredibly sweet. Maybe it was because he thought he had so much to make up for, so many years of torturing Kurt that he had to show him his new, better side. Kurt didn't care; he still thought he was sweet either way.

"Kurt? Open the door!" A rattle of a chain.

Five years. David became a PA to the manager of a division II soccer team and he was _happy_. It was so obvious in every text message, every postcard. Five years of friendly kindness until David told him he was coming to New York for a month, coming for work.

Kurt met David the evening he'd landed. He had no idea why he'd rushed to go home from work, instead of just going straight to Central Park to meet him. He had no idea why he'd changed his outfit twice and felt the need to completely restyle his hair.

"Kurt, I swear to God, I'm gonna break it down if you don't open up _right now_!"

He was convinced he was being stood up as he waited under the autumn leaves, tugging his cashmere scarf tighter around his neck. What was taking David so_ long_? But he figured if he could wait five years, he could wait another hour.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. And it was such, such a good job Kurt was sitting down.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

David Karofsky was not the same guy who he had seen day in, day out at McKinley. He was… How much _weight_ had he lost, oh my _God_. His once rounded jaw was now sharp and refined and scattered with designer stubble. His dark hair was neatly cut. And since when the Hell had he known how to dress? Kurt could see his navy suit was Armani a mile off, so gorgeous that he'd wanted to tear it off his back and- wait, _what_?!

But what had hit Kurt the hardest, struck him like a sledgehammer to the chest was his smile.

"Kurt!" The bedroom door flew open, and there was a hard, warm hand on his face, "Kurt!"

Kurt cracked open one eye. "I'm not dead yet Finn, if that's what you're worried about." _More's the pity_.

He heard Finn's sigh of relief. "Why didn't you answer?"

Kurt would have shrugged if he'd had the energy. "I'm tired, Finn. Can you please go away?"

"Don't you care where Adele is?"

"She's better with you and Rachel than with me."

"I-We don't know what to tell her. She keeps asking where you are. Where you _both_ are. I mean, what the Hell do we tell her?"

"Tell her not to drink and drive."

Another sigh. "Kurt…"

"Go away, Finn."

"I can't. I-" A pause. "I kicked your door in. Lock's bust. What if you get robbed?"

"There's nothing in here worth stealing other than my wardrobe, and everyone else in this building is terribly unfashionable. I think I'll be just fine."

Kurt feels the bed dip as Finn sits down. Their bed. The bed only three people have ever been in, he and David and Adele on nights when she can't sleep. The bed they bought together without thinking about how the Hell they were going to get it up the stairs to their apartment. That they've made love in, and on, and on the floor next to it, when they can't quite make it all the way.

He sits upright and the back of his hand connects with Finn's face. "Get out!"

"What the-?!"

"Get out!" Kurt shrieks the words. What right did he have? This bed, this whole apartment… This was their apartment. And already it was the apartment with the lock Finn broke and the bed Finn sat on. It's too full of memories for new ones to replace them. Too full of memories of the sunlight through the curtains and David attempting to cook and Adele doing a better job of it than he was. There was no room here for anyone, anything else.

"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!"

But Finn doesn't leave. After he flees the bedroom, Kurt can hear the kettle boiling, the sound of a teaspoon hitting the edge of a mug. Kurt wants to scream. He settles for silent crying.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Blaine Anderson was thirty four years old and unemployed. No matter how he tried to word it, he couldn't find a better way of saying it.  
Out of work. In between jobs. Seeking employment.

No, all just as bad as each other because they all screamed the same thing.

Failure. Massive failure of epic proportions.

If someone had told him when he was in high school, standing bold on a national stage, and belting out a show choir number to an audience of thousands, that he'd still be struggling for work over ten years after graduating college, he wouldn't have believed it. He had always been so, so sure that by now things would have worked themselves out. He'd have his dream job, doing what he loved and loving what he was doing.

It wasn't like he'd always been out of work. It was just… The industry was hard. There were interviews and auditions and yet more auditions and with each one, the numbers of people his age dwindled, and he was left struggling in a sea of fresh faced twenty year olds.

He hadn't been short of work in the beginning. Competition had been stiff but he'd got by. He'd felt like he was really, finally making a name for himself. He _adored_ his life. His days were swallowed by learning lines and practicing scales and his nights were full of grease paint and applause and after-show champagne.

He wasn't sure when things had started going so downhill. All he knew was that he felt _old_, and more and more washed out, dried up after every phone call of "I'm sorry, Mr Anderson."

Most of his roles now where either in a chorus or as an understudy.

In the end, he'd been forced to take a second job. He had no qualifications other than life experience, a killer voice (he still had it, he told himself in the mirror every morning. He did.), a degree in musical theatre… And a knack for dealing with children.

Maybe it was something he'd picked up from babysitting his brother Cooper's two boys, both by different mothers who Cooper had on the weekends. Maybe he'd just watched too many episodes of Super Nanny during his stretches of being out of work. Unemployed. Searching. But whatever it was, kids liked him. When they cried he could usually soothe them. When they screamed, he could make them laugh. And when they wandered off in stores, he could usually run round the isles pretty quick, grab them and drag them to the exit to be scolded.

So. Child-minding. It wasn't the dream, but he did enjoy it.

Or he would, if he wasn't currently out of that particular type of work as well. Blaine's last job… Well, that had been… Awkward. He'd worked for a lovely couple, both of them doctors with a hectic schedule and looked after their two gorgeous and oddly angelic children. It was heavenly. He'd still gone to auditions and tried to get back into acting again, but he was doing okay.

Then he'd let slip one day he was unable to work one weekend because he was heading to New York's gay pride festival. He hadn't expected the quiet, well spoken, intelligent couple to frown at him and usher him out of the house as if they couldn't get rid of him quickly enough. The next day he'd received a phone call asking him not to come to work.

Oddly enough, he missed it. He missed the smell of baby shampoo and testing milk temperature on the back of his wrist. He missed the pride that bloomed in him when a child stopped crying because of _him._

So, of course he couldn't have been happier when he managed to leap out of the shower just in time to pick up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking to a Mr Blaine Anderson?" The voice on the other end of the line was a woman's, breathless and hopeful.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm calling about your advert. You're a nanny?"

"A child-minder, yes."

"Fantastic! My name is Rachel Hudson. I'm calling on behalf of my brother-in-law, Kurt Hummel. He's very, uhhh, busy at the moment and could use some help with his daughter. Would you be available for an interview?"

"Yes, of course. When did you have in mind?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

Blaine exhaled the breath he'd been keeping tight in his chest. "No, tomorrow would be perfect."

"Great! Do you know where Café Crème is?"

"The one on Madison Avenue?"

"Yes, yes that's the one. Say… 10:30?"

"That sounds fine."

"Okay! I'll see you there tomorrow then. Don't forget; 10:30 sharp!"

"Okay, thank you. 'Bye then."

"Goodbye."

After he hung up, Blaine had to restrain himself from leaping around the furniture and punching the air. _Finally_, a job again. Hopefully. She had sounded desperate. This, on the one hand did mean he was more likely to get the job. On the other hand though, what was making her need a child minder so urgently? What was the hurry? And why hadn't her brother in law called Blaine himself? Could he really be _that _busy? It wasn't unheard of for his employers to be so rushed of their feet they barely had time to read his resume, but too busy even for the initial interview?

Already Blaine was building up a mental image of somebody not unlike his own father; cold and distant with gray hair peppered with white, a permanent frown and a hand never empty of a briefcase.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Blaine was settled with an Americano at one of Café Crème's tables near the window by 10:05. He checked his emails on his phone while he waited, and when he'd finished that he nursed his drink, sipping it slowly to make it last. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who arrived early.

Rachel Hudson turned out to be a tired, stressed looking woman with blindingly shiny brown hair and a determinedly steady smile. "Mr Anderson? Hi, I'm Rachel."

Blaine rose in his chair so he could lean across the table to shake her hand. "Blaine, please."

She took the seat opposite him. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"It's no problem."

Rachel took a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds as if to calm herself, then let it out. Blaine was about to offer her a drink when her arm shot straight up in the air, fingers snapping loudly. Blaine couldn't help but wince as a waitress hurried over. "Are you ready to order?"

"I'll have an iced green tea, venti, sweetened with half a teaspoon of classic syrup. Thank you."

As the waitress hurried off, Rachel turned back to Blaine and clapped her hands sharply together, making him jump. "So, Blaine. I read your resume online, and I was reasonably impressed.

_Only reasonably?_ "Thank you."

"But I highly doubt you've encountered a situation like this before. It's very _delicate_ and will require sensitive handling and tact if I am to hire you." Blaine didn't think he'd ever seen someone talk so quickly before. It amazed him how her words didn't run together. "As I mentioned on the phone, it's my brother in law, Kurt, whose child is in need of a nanny. He has a daughter, Adele, who's five. She's at school from 9am to 3pm every weekday so during those hours you should be free to do your own thing, pursue your own leisure actives, et cetera. If I do decide to let you watch her, your hours may be longer to begin with, especially at weekends but they will decrease over time as things get… Back to normal."

"I see." He didn't. "That sounds fine. Can I ask what makes things so sensitive?"

It was the first time he had seen Rachel hesitate. She took another breath. "Kurt… Adele's other dad passed away eight days ago. He was hit by a drunk driver on his way to work. The driver was also killed in the… Incident. Kurt is… Struggling right now. He hasn't gone back to work yet and won't leave his apartment so Adele has been staying with myself and my husband, Finn. Obviously Finn and I love having her but we have our own lives and we both work full time, but Kurt isn't in any position yet to take care of her on his own just yet."

Blaine nods silently. He was not expecting this.

"When things get better after the funeral, it's likely Kurt will still need assistance. He works long hours through the week and adjusting to being a single dad will be hard for him. Just until he works out a schedules. So this will be a long term commitment from you. Are you available to work the hours I mentioned or do you have any other work at the moment?"

"No. No, I'm free any hours."

Rachel nodded, seemingly satisfied. " Before I decide to employ you, and discuss payment, I'd like you to meet Adele. Does that sound alright?"

"That sounds fine."

"Great. She's staying at my apartment at the moment. If we hurry we can catch her before her afternoon nap."

As Rachel lead him rather forcefully out of the quiet Café Crème in the direction of the subway, leaving a bewildered looking waitress still holding Rachel's just-made tea, Blaine couldn't help but wonder what he was letting himself in for.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I am the procrastination Queen, writing fanfiction when I have a uni presentation to do tomorrow morning, woo. Only a short chapter, sorryyyy.

GUYSGUYS: Thank you, if you read this, reviewed, faved, followed, whatever you did. Normally my fics get next to no attention which is understandable because there are so many amazing writings out there. And I know a lot of users get like, 100+ reviews and thousands of views, but for me personally, the amount of feedback from you guys has been lovely. So thank you 3

* * *

3.

Kurt isn't sure if he's been awake or asleep. It doesn't matter. Whatever it is he's been doing, it's not fair.

He can practically feel David's breath in his ear as he remembers their first morning-after, sprawled out in Kurt's bedroom with the sound of traffic drifting in from the street below, better than birdsong. Kurt, still drowsy from sleep and the fierce gentleness of sex had asked "Why haven't we done this sooner? What took you so long coming to New York?"

David's voice was soft. Even shy. "I had to make sure I was worth it."

"Worth what? Your position? You're clearly amazing at your job, you shouldn't put yourself down. You-"

"No. Worth you." David's fingertips made a feather-light trail down Kurt's arm, making him shiver. "Kurt. I..." His hand stilled against his wrist. "I love you. I've loved you for the longest time. For like, seven years or something now. And I know I was an absolute asshole for a lot of that time and some of the things I did were unforgivable and I am so, so happy you wanted to talk to me again, let alone do… do this. And… And I just, I tried, you know? I tried to be just your friend and I… You're…You. And. That's." His sigh tickles Kurt's neck. "That's it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. David's body was warm against his back, and perfectly still. "Should I- Should I leave?"

"No." Kurt said and closed his fingers around David's hand.

It's a moment before Kurt realises he's said the word out loud. The only thing his fingers are touching is his own palm.

* * *

When he finally opens his eyes and sits up in bed,_ their _bed still, _always theirs_, oh God, he's exhausted. It takes him a long time to focus his limbs enough to stand and trudge through into the living room.

It's exactly the same.

Well, almost the same. His front door has shiny new hinges. The radio is on in the kitchen.  
And his dad is sitting on the chez longue underneath the window. He stands the instant his eyes raise and meet Kurt's.

"You're up."

"Dad." He swallows, hard. For a moment all he can do is stand there. All he wants to do is reach out but his arms feel like lead at his sides. But his dad must have sensed it somehow, and pulls him into a tight hug. Kurt lets him, just sobs into his ancient flannel shirt and tries not to choke on his own breath and saliva.

"How did you… How did you survive after mom?" He can't even get through the whole sentence before he crumbles back into stranglingly wet gasps.

"I had you, kid." Burt says. "I had no choice, I had_ you_. You saved my life without even realizing it, Kurt. And Adele is gonna save yours."

* * *

"I've been such a shit dad." Kurt mumbles, his red raw eyes fixed unblinking on the tea Burt pressed into his hands half an hour ago, when he finally managed to get himself under control. "I don't even know where Adele is. Is she even still with Finn and Rachel?"

Burt nods. "Yeah, she is."

"Thank you. How long?"

"It's been a week. She misses you. And she needs to hear the truth from you."

Kurt nods mutely. He feels about five inches tall. He's right. He knows he's right, he has to talk to her. He misses her too, she's his little girl, of course he misses her. It's just so damn hard. Because he knows when he opens his mouth and explains, it'll become real. Final.

"They've finished the post mortem. There's a… Do you want to see any of the medical records?"

Kurt shakes his head.

"I didn't think so."

"Are Finn and Rachel alright?"

"You don't think you should go and see them yourself?"

"I... I have to go see my daughter first."

The corners of Burt's mouth twitch upwards for a second, and Kurt recognizes a glimmer of something familiar in his expression. Pride. Even though he abandoned his daughter for almost seven whole days and hid away in his own head, his own father is still proud of him. Proud that at least he's_ trying_.

Under the hot spray of the shower, Kurt tries to think of ways to explain things to his daughter, their daughter, always _theirs_. How do you explain to a five year old about death?

He doesn't believe in lying to her. He won't tell her that her daddy is in heaven or he's become a star in the night sky, or that if she prays hard enough at night, her daddy will hear her. But saying what he really believes, what he knows, _your daddy is going to go in the ground sweetie, he's starting to decay already. In about a week, his nose tip will start to grow mold and his ears will come close to falling from his skull_… Kurt might be an atheist but he isn't cruel.

Burt never told him anything about heaven or spirits or whatever when Kurt's mom had passed. He hadn't needed to. Kurt knew she was in hospital and then she was gone and everyone was sad and flocked to their house with flowers and tears and one of his younger cousins had smashed his favorite bone china teacup. There had been so much noise, so many people, so much sadness. Kurt had been aware of death and its finality but he never remembered learning about it. He'd just _known_. He'd hoped death was like a long, quiet, black sleep where you didn't care if anyone smashed your teacups and no one bothered you.

When Kurt gets out of the bathroom, pink skinned from the heat of the water and too exhausted to blow dry or style his hair and dresses in jeans and an oversized sweater, he suggests they call a cab to Rachel and Finn's apartment. Burt's instant reaction is a firm, hard "No." which Kurt doesn't really understand, because the worst thing has already happened so it's not like he has anything to be afraid of anymore.

They get there via the subway instead. It's claustrophobic and stifling and it takes all of Kurt's courage not to hammer on the doors when they start to move. But they get there, in the end. His legs shake all the way to the building. His dad stands calm and quiet at his side, and if he notices Kurt's unsteadiness he's kind enough not to mention it.

When Burt knocks loudly on the door, Kurt has a vague idea of what he's going to say. He's going to apologize to all three of them because oh God, _he slapped Finn in the face_ and he's going to hug Adele so tightly it'll be impossible for her not to feel safe and he's going to talk about the mechanics of the human body in as simple terms as he can and try not to be cold and to make her understand without breaking down himself because she _needs _him.

But all that, all that, goes out of his head when the door opens and it's neither Finn nor Rachel. It's a man he's never seen before in his life, and Adele is sitting on his shoulders.

All the thoughtfulness, the patience, the bravery, it evaporates. And all Kurt can think to say is "_What the fuck are you doing with my daughter_?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: GUYS GUYS GUYS. I'm finally doing it! You're finally getting to meet Adele! Either this chapter will be the start of something lovely and bode really well for the rest of the story or errr... Not.  
Also: I'm sorry this is so late! I'm a uni student swamped with work, who is half way through packing to move out, and who has three 5 week old kittens to run round after…  
But I pinky I won't abandon this fic though! Thank you for your patience…

**4.**

Adele was an easy child to please. She liked the things that most little girls liked; colouring in, playing dress up, throwing tea parties for her teddy bear, Wilfred, and dancing around the apartment to Justin Bieber.

Blaine had to admit, although he didn't mind joining in with any of those things, he particularly enjoyed the dancing part. Bieber had never really been his thing, but there was something incredibly fun about hurling yourself round the expensive furniture like Adele wasn't the only six year old around.

This was all done whilst Rachel and Finn were out, of course. Blaine really, really didn't think Rachel would appreciate either of them standing on their nice, clean white leather couches. He didn't think Finn would be too bothered, but it was still best not to risk it.

Blaine had only met Finn briefly so far, but he was someone Blaine liked instinctively; he was easy going and refreshingly unpretentious. It was also obvious how much he adored Rachel and Adele.

Blaine's parents had had four happy years of marriage together, followed by seventeen years of unhappy marriage ending in a train wreck of a divorce. He hoped Finn and Rachel would have kids someday. He had always been a believer that kids born into loving homes and understood what it meant to love and be loved, who really _understood_ it, would replicate it to other people and spread it around. God knows the world needed a bit more love in it.

Evidently, Adele's parents had loved each other and their child enough for her to grow into a reasonably well behaved kid who smiled a lot. Or at least, she smiled when she was distracted enough not to think about where either of her dads were.

*

When Blaine had first stepped inside the apartment with Rachel, the little blonde girl had taken one look at him from her perch on the arm of Finn's chair, and stomped off to lock herself in the bathroom. The door slammed so hard it shook.

"Is she six or sixteen?" Blaine asks, dumbstruck.

Rachel shrugs. "She gets that from Kurt. Like diva, like daughter."

From his armchair, Finn sighs heavily, "I dunno what's up with her... She was fine a second ago!" He puts his palms flat on the arms as if to push himself up but Rachel is already two steps ahead of him and makes a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Blaine standing awkwardly as Finn gives him an accusing look, as if Adele's behavior is_ his_ fault.

"Um, hi. I'm Blaine. The child-minder." It sounds lame in his own ears.

Finn nods and mumbles a "Hey.", but he's not really paying attention any more. He's listening instead to Rachel calling through the door "Adele honey, open up."

She's met by moody silence.

"Adele! If you come out, you can have ice cream."

Still nothing.

Blaine can't help but wonder who would be more stubborn: Rachel or Adele. He thinks it might be a pretty close call. This is why he coughs, a little nervously, and says "Rachel? Do you want me to give it a try?"

She gives him an imperious look, head held high like she's looking down her nose at him. It makes Blaine excruciatingly aware that he's only slightly taller than her. "If you think she'll talk to a stranger, rather than her own aunt and god mother then fine." She snaps and goes to take a seat.

Blaine can feel his palms sweating as he sits down with his back leaning against the bathroom door. Rachel is right. Adele doesn't know him, it's so unlikely she'll talk to him. And Blaine is pretty sure if she doesn't come out, he isn't getting hired and it's back to his tiny apartment with nothing but bad daytime TV and rejection phone calls for company.

"Hey there," he says softly. He knows he has a good voice for speaking to kids. He knows by now how to be gentle, without being patronizing. "My name's Blaine. What's yours?"

"You already know, you heard Aunt Rachel say it." Okay, _ouch_. Maybe that wasn't his best tactic. But at least he'd got her talking.

"But I want you to tell me. It's only polite to introduce yourself, right?"

"Adele. Go away."

"You don't seem to like me very much. Wanna tell me why?"

Blaine can hear the drumming of fingers on the wood behind his back. She's getting restless, so it's only a matter of time, really. So he sits quietly, and he waits. He knows what he's doing. So much so that when Rachel opens her mouth to speak after a few minutes of this silence, he feels confident enough to raise a finger to his lips to stop her. She's as indignant as he thought she'd be but it's worth it because only a moment later, Adele's voice, small and soft now, drifts out.

"I don't not like you." She mumbles. "I thought… I thought it might be Daddy. And it wasn't- It was… You."

Blaine wonders if he did the right thing. He thinks he'd preferred it when she'd been quiet. No child should sound so hurt, so lonely. And the tragedy of it all was that she didn't even know yet. No one had told her. One of her dads was dead and the other was too broken to even get out of bed and comfort his little girl.

How was this, any of this_ fair_? How could things like this even happen? Blaine swallowed against the lump in his throat. "You miss them, huh?"

There's a deep, shuddering sigh that turns into sobbing. "Hey, hey." Blaine soothes. "It's okay, sweetie." He wishes the damn door didn't exist, so he could at least hug her. "Do you want to open the door?"

When Adele doesn't answer, Rachel hisses at him "You're making it worse!"

He ignores her. "Adele? Honey, what did your dads tell you to do when you feel sad? What makes you feel better?" It's a risky thing to ask, he knows. But it's the only thing he can think of.

There's a tiny hiccup. "They make hot chocolate." Another, deeper breath like she's finally close to stopping the tears. "And… And Daddy plays piano with me."

"I'm not much of a pianist, but I think I can manage hot chocolate. Would that make you feel better?"

There's scuffling and the rustle of clothing. And a click, that blessed click of a lock sliding out of place. It sounds like victory.

Blaine stands just as Adele steps out, her wet eyes gone red where she's dug the heels of her hands into them. Her hand is fragile and warm and a little shakey as it slips into Blaine's and he leads her towards the kitchen. When Adele isn't looking, Finn gives him an entirely inappropriate thumbs up and mouths _you're hired_.

It's not long after that, while Blaine and Adele are still sat at the kitchen table, with their hands wrapped tight around warm cups, when Rachel and Finn have to head out to the convenience store before it closes. And about five minutes after they leave is when the Bieber-furniture madness begins.

And just as the last warbling notes of 'Boyfriend' are fading out on the stereo, there's a knock at the door. Blaine figures it's Finn and Rachel come home early after they forgot their keys or something. But it's not.

There are two people standing there, but they aren't Finn or Rachel. One is middle aged and bald and the other is about Blaine's own age, tall and slender. Whoever he is, he looks like death. Death wrapped up in translucent-pale skin and gray wool. His eyes are startlingly blue against the dark circles beneath them. Blaine hadn't realised that looking so bad could look so _good_.

When he speaks, his voice is almost angelic; surprisingly high and oddly musical. And furious. "What the fuck are you doing with my daughter?" he hisses through clenched teeth.

Blaine's mouth drops open. "I-I-" His mind is blank.

Adele cuts across him with a happy shriek that almost bursts his ear drum. "Daddy!" Her arms reach out. It only takes a second for this man, this vicious, shattered man to soften. The corners of his mouth twitch like he wants to smile but isn't quite sure how any more. He sweeps Adele easily off Blaine's shoulders and pulls her into a hug. "Hi little dove, sorry I took so long."

Adele clings to him, beaming. "It's okay! Blaine made hot chocolate and danced with me."

"Did he now?" From over Adele's shoulder, Kurt shoots him a venomous glare.

Behind him, the other man is watching with folded arms and a frown. "You wanna explain?"

"I'm Blaine. Anderson. I'm a child minder." How many times has he said that over the last two days? Each time it sounds no better in his own ears. He sounds unsure of himself, Hell, he_ is_ unsure of himself. "Rachel hired me. To babysit."

"She did _what_?"

The older guy's voice is steady, level. "_Kurt._"

Kurt whirls. "What, Dad? I'm not allowed to be annoyed that somebody hired a stranger to take care of my daughter, without consulting me first?" Around his neck, Adele's fingers are trembling slightly.

"Kurt. You weren't _here_. Finn and Rachel have jobs, they can't just drop everything."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm sure." Announces Kurt before sweeping off into the kitchen. How he manages saunter away so haughtily, still with Adele in his arms, Blaine will never know. _Like diva like daughter_, Rachel had said. Rightly so.

Kurt's father lets out a long, weary sigh and extends his hand. "Burt Hummel, Kurt's dad."

Blaine shakes it. "Hi." His palm is warm and calloused.

"I'm sure you've been filled in on… This."

Blaine nods. "Yeah."

"Good. Then, I hate to sound rude but… Would you mind leaving for today please? I don't reckon Kurt's really in the right state to talk. He needs time with his kid."

"Of course. I understand."

He understands he's being politely fired before he's even been properly hired.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I know, I know, it's been a while since I updated… Sorry guyzzz. Real life has been getting in the way. Also been spending ages picking this over and safe to say this part didn't want to be written. Posting this because the longer I leave it, the more holes I seem to find in this.

Adele sits opposite him in Finn and Rachel's kitchen, her legs swinging wildly under the table, and says "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you better now? Grandpa said you were sick. Where's Daddy?"

Daddy. When Adele first started pre-school, her teacher had asked everyone to tell the rest of their class something about their family. When Adele's turn came around, she'd beamed and announced, "My Daddy makes clothes and Daddy calls people about soccer."

"My mommy has two jobs too!" One of the boys said. "Sometimes she works in a store and on a night she works in another store."  
Adele shook her head. "No. My daddies only have one job. Daddy can't sew and Daddy doesn't like sports. He says they're for Knee-and-a-thorns."

Around her, her classmates stared at her in confusion.

"You have two Daddies?"

Adele had been met with twenty five completely perplexed faces. "Yes."

"Do you have a Mommy too?"  
"What's a Knee Ander Thorn?"

_I guess she doesn't have that confusion at school any more_.

"Daddy?" Adele slides off the chair and comes to tug at Kurt's sweater. "Daddy, why are you crying?"

"I'm not, Sweetie."

Adele leans up to wipe at his eyes. She brings her hand away to examine her fingertips critically. They're undeniably wet. "You are so!"

Kurt pushes a hand through his hair. If ever there was a time, it's now. He barely has to extend his arms for her before Adele is scrambling wide eyed up onto his knees. Her bottom lip is trembling slightly.

It's been a long time since Kurt last cried in front of his daughter; the last time he did, he'd been watching The Notebook and as soon as she'd seen his eyes begin to water she'd exploded in matching tears. When David had come home from work and seen them clutching each other with a box of Kleenex wedged in between them, he'd become instantly frantic.  
_What is it? What's happened?! _  
To which Adele had wailed _The m-movie made Daddy saaaad!_

"Adele, honey. Daddy.. He's, he's not coming home."

Adele, his little girl, she just blinks. Totally uncomprehending. "Why?"

"There was an accident, Sweetheart." There's no denying he's crying now, his eyes are hot and already raw. He swallows. Stays steady. "He got hit by a car on his way to work. The driver was very, very bad and lost control of the car. And he hit him."

Adele's lip isn't trembling any more. She's instead perfectly still, like she's waiting.

"Sweetheart, Daddy passed away."

Adele frowns, like she's trying to work it all out. "Miss Paisley said when people die it's like a big long sleep."

"No. It's not. Sleeping people wake up eventually. Your Daddy won't wake up. He's _gone_."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know. Some people think he's gone to Heaven. Or he's a star now." _Chicken, Kurt. You're a total coward_. He swallows again. "Some people think that he just… isn't here anymore. His body is here but it's empty."

"Oh. So Daddy isn't coming home?"

"No, Sweetheart."

For a moment neither of them move.

Then Adele finally begins to sob. Her arms reach around his neck and her tiny pale face presses against his shoulder, her tears slowly soaking through his sweater onto the skin beneath.  
He pulls his little girl close, fragile as she is, and runs his fingers in soothing circles on her back, just like he did when she was even smaller. Her whole body shudders and jerks as the sadness takes hold.  
Kurt says nothing and it is_ hard_. If he'd told her more tactfully, if he'd explained more about death to her earlier… But his guilt won't help. Nothing he can do will bring her Daddy back. So he just draws her closer to his chest and just lets her feel it.

By the time Burt comes to check in on them, Kurt's face is completely dry, completely free of its earlier blotchiness and tension. He even manages a small, humourless smile when he catches his dad's eye. Burt was right. He has to be strong now, he has to be a father again.

-

What no one ever tells you about funerals, Kurt thinks grimly, is just how much paper work is involved. There are phone books because you have to contact family and friends who will want to pay their respects. There's the mountain of crumpled note paper in the waste basket, an obvious display of how words have utterly failed you. There are receipts and order of service drafts and song sheets and an endless stream of 'In Sympathy' cards.

Kurt doesn't read a single one of them, just tugs them from their envelopes, glances at the covers; photographs of snow drops and lilies mostly, and sets them face down in a neat pile at the very back of the 'junk drawer', aptly named because it's full of all sorts of crap and he hardly ever looks in there. He dreads the morning post.

It's already been a week. Kurt tip toes around the apartment, praying he doesn't knock anything out of place while Adele spends most of her time curled up on the couch, her headphones jammed on tight, her ipod turned up as loud as it will go. Kurt has told her repeatedly to turn it down, and she does, for a while anyway. But half an hour later it's back on full blast again so by now he's pretty much given up. It's taking all his energy as it is just to keep functioning.

Every few hours, the headphones will be pulled off though and Adele will trail around the house after him, asking things like "Will Daddy be back for my birthday?" and "Is a funeral like a party?". The answer she received, whatever the question, always left her in tears again and clinging to Kurt like a lifeboat in a storm.

At ten o'clock he gets a 'phone call from a local newspaper. He hangs up instantly without saying a word.

At eleven, Rachel shows up and hammers on the door and calls "Kurt? Kurt, I know you're in there!"  
Kurt ignores her until Adele yanks off her headphones and commands "Open the door Daddy!"

When Rachel breezes past him into the apartment he folds his arms and leans back to push the door closed. "Have you come to bring me touching notes from the beyond?"

She sighs heavily. "Don't be silly. I'll make tea."

"I'm sick of tea."

She shoots him a look as if she thinks he's being deliberately difficult. "How can _you_ be sick of tea?"

"Because all I've done is drink tea."

"Then go out."

"I'm sorry?"

"Go. Out. Side. Get some fresh air. When was the last time you left the apartment?"

Kurt gives her the most contemptuous look he can muster. Considering how pissed off he is at the entire world right now, it isn't difficult. "Apparently long enough for panda sweaters to come back into fashion."

Rachel glances down at her the baggy, misshapen abomination she's wearing and jabs a finger at the huge black and white face on her chest. "It's_ cute_. Everyone loves pandas." She declares, although she doesn't look so sure any more.

"I don't." Adele announces from the couch. "They look like old-movie clowns."

Kurt flicks a hand in his daughter's direction triumphantly. "See?"

But Rachel has already turned her back on him. Frustrating as it was, at least he couldn't see the panda any more. "Adele sweetie, what're you listening to?"

"Justin Beiber."

Kurt and Rachel simultaneously wrinkle their noses in disgust. "Oh," Rachel comes to crouch down beside her niece. "Wouldn't you rather come watch a nice show with your Aunt Rachel?" She lifts her bag slightly. It rattles suspiciously. "I brought Les Mis with me. And Billy Elliot. Don't you think that sounds fun?"

Adele gives her a dull, utterly unimpressed stare. "I've seen them before. Lots. I like Justin Bieber. Blaine does too."

"Who's Blaine?" Kurt asks. "Is he a boy at school?"

"No."

"Really, Kurt?" Rachel takes a seat, a clear sign she isn't planning on leaving for a while. "Blaine's the babysitter I hired last week. You know, the one you flipped a lid at for _doing his job_?"

"I had a _reaction_." He corrects "There was a strange man with my daughter. What was I supposed to do?"

"Not swear at him and accuse him of kidnap, maybe." Rachel mutters.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"That's what I thought. Do you want tea or coffee?"

It's then that Rachel finally smiles at him. "Coffee would be lovely."

So they sit and drink from steaming mugs together, and very carefully do not talk about David or traffic which is difficult considering how many vehicles there actually are in New York, and how much of Kurt's life has revolves, _revolved_ around David. Every now and then through their talk about Rachel's auditions and Finn's plethora of bad habits and how Burt finally caved in and started going to those vegan cookery classes Kurt suggested (nagged) him to go to, he catches Rachel glancing down at the simple gold band around his ring finger. At the photographs. At the large black coat on the hook and the shoes on the floor underneath it. He gets it, he really does. Rachel is concerned. She's being nice. Wouldn't he be the same way if their positions were reversed? No, he'd be as devastated as her, Finn is his brother but… He gets it.

Which is why he finally surrenders.

"Come on." He says, draining the last few drops from his coffee cup. "We're going out." He tugs on the wire connecting Adele's headphones to her ipod so she presses pause for a second. "Get your shoes on honey."

She blinks up at him, baffled. He's not suggested they leave since he brought her back home. "Where are we going?"

"The only good thing about funerals, is you get to buy something beautiful and black to wear. If ever I needed retail therapy, I think it's now." He says it as lightly as he can, tries to sound casual and dry. He doesn't expect Adele to get it; he says it instead for Rachel's benefit. So she can see for herself that he's not a complete broken mess, at least not yet anyway. He can still be flippant.

From Rachel's expression, he can't tell if she's approving or just plain anxious.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I know, I know. I'm late as usual. A combination of uni assignments, exhibition deadlines, fundraising and wedding planning are kicking my ass when all I wanna do is sit down and *write*  
Thank you as always for your patience.  
Also; from the following chapter onwards there will be slightly less angst, and more Blaine.

It's only two days before the funeral that David's parents manage to fly out. His mom, Dianne, runs a small chain of florists and as much as she'd love to, she's not the kind of person who leaves her employees to struggle on their own. Not even when she's about to bury her son.

Kurt isn't sure what to make of that. He's met Dianne plenty of times, and he adores her. She's like a quieter, skinny blonde version of Carole. He knows she is exactly the kind of person to bottle up her own sadness in the face of letting other people down. But Kurt also knows how terrified she must be.

It must be nice, to stay in Ohio for those extra few days, and pretend her life is still perfectly fine and her thirty six year old only child isn't already being eaten by microscopic bacteria, and her son in law isn't staying up all night hoping her granddaughter can't hear him sob until he retches.

So Kurt is suspicious. He's angry at the thought of being left alone, and jealous that he can't do the same.

"We'll be landing at seven tonight." David Senior told him in their most recent phone call. As he has in their last few calls, he sounds tired, old, infinitely sad.

"Okay, I'll come meet you. Where are you staying?"

"Upper west side. Hotel Bellclaire. But listen, Kurt, you really don't have to. We don't want you to go out of your way for us."

"It's no trouble." Kurt replied. "Really, it'll be good to see you."

"You're sure? We won't be brilliant conversation."

Kurt smiled wryly. "Neither will I."

At that, David Senior paused, a little flustered. Then sighed. "Okay, kid."

"Great. I'll see you around eight in the lobby then. I'll text you when I'm almost there."

"Alright. See you soon then. Take care."

"You too. Bye."

Four o'clock comes. Kurt cooks a risotto with the odds and ends of vegetables still good in the back of the refrigerator, and he and Adele eat it slowly at the table in near silence. They haven't eaten this early in a long time but Kurt is restless, knowing he has to go out soon. Cooking gives him something to do. He pushes each forkful around the plate because he's lost his appetite what seems like forever ago, and Adele prods hers because she's nervous.

"When'll you be home?" she asks.

"Late, Sweetheart. That's why Grandpa is coming over to look after you."

Adele scowls. "Can look after myself."

"I'm sure you can." Kurt goes over to the bin, to scrape off the remains of his meal. It hits the bottom of the plastic bag wetly. "But someone has to be here to make sure you go to bed on time, little night owl."

He smiles when she pushes her plate across the table to him with a "hmph!" She's definitely turning into a teenager already. She's always been a precocious child but when did she actually grow up so fast?

He calls Burt. And the phone rings out. Right up until "Leave a message after the tone."

"Hi, Dad. Just wondering what time you're coming over? I have to leave in a couple of hours, so. Anyway, let me know. Hope you're okay."

He's probably just busy; at the shop and forgotten his phone or it's buried deep in the bottom of his jacket pocket. Or his battery died or he's got lost in the Bronx or he's had another heart attack or-

When the phone rings in his hand, Kurt almost drops it in shock. He knew Burt would call him back though, he did. Honestly.

"Dad?"  
"Hey, Kurt."

"Rachel? What's going on? Where's my dad?"  
"Relax, he's fine. Listen, I was just calling to say he's asleep on our couch. He was up talking to Carole until about 4am trying to sort out her flight. I just didn't know if you wanted me to wake him up because to be honest, he looks pretty out of it."  
"No, no. It's okay. Let him sleep. I'll- I'll figure something out."  
"Okay. So how are you?"  
Kurt shrugs before he realises Rachel can't actually see him. "I'm okay. Thank you."  
"And Adele?"  
"It's hard to tell with her, you know? But I think she's… doing okay. We'll see after the funeral. Listen, I'd better go and sort this out. I have to go meet Dave and Dianne in like an hour. Tell my dad and Finn I said hi."  
"Okay. I'll call you tomorrow. And Kurt?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Finn and I, we miss him too you know. In our own way."  
"I know. Thank you."  
Kurt hangs up and must not cry, does not cry.

By now, Adele is back in her bedroom and through the thin plaster he can hear her singing about how all she needs is 'A beauty and a beat'.

He picks up the receiver again, and calls the babysitter.

-

The funny thing is, is that Blaine Anderson isn't busy, not even at less than two hour's notice. Which while useful, is also a little creepy because surely the guy has a life of his own to lead, one that doesn't revolve around other people's children. And if it's not creepy, then it's just sad that he had nowhere else to be.

When Kurt sees him in the doorway though, and sees him for the first time (the real first time he was in a blind, paranoid rage of over protective parental hormones so that hardly counts), Blaine Anderson doesn't seem like either of those things. He just seems… Wide eyed, helpful, eager to please. A Labrador reincarnated as a man.

"Blaine. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know I wasn't a great host last time."  
Blaine smiles as he steps into the apartment. "It's fine. I get it, honestly."

Kurt shrugs on his coat and quickly checks his pockets; wallet, cell, keys. "I'll be back late, I'm not sure what time. Adele's already in bed so she shouldn't be any trouble. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you have my number, and my dad's and Rachel's are on the memo board in the kitchen."

"Got it. Have a good night."

-

When he is passed between David Senior and Dianne for tight, concerned hugs, Kurt feels simultaneously very small and very old. The whole evening makes him feel that way; tired and childish. They mean well, but they talk too much. Try too hard to force conversations, to avoid the darker, quieter, screamingly loud thoughts that surfaced in moments when the conversation lulled.

"How are you holding up?"  
"How's Adele?"  
"Is she back at school yet?"  
"When are you going back to work?"  
"What do you want to eat?"  
"You want to go out or stay here?"  
"Have you managed to sort everything or is there anything you need help with?"  
"How's your dad?"  
"Would you like a drink?"  
"Aren't you going to eat something else?"  
"Do you want us to take anything back to Ohio with us?"  
"Do you want to come stay with us for a while?"  
"You will say if you need anything, won't you?"  
"How many drinks have you had now?"  
"Don't you think you should slow down?"  
"Are you feeling alright?"  
"Do you think you're going to be sick?"  
"Shall we call you a cab?"  
"Kurt? Hey, Kurt?"  
"Kurt?"

Kurt doesn't know how he even managed to stumble from the taxi back up to the apartment. In the hall, his key won't fit into the door. It won't fucking fit and he can't even get into his own fucking apartment and the more he struggles to make it fit in the lock it won't, it won't it won't, it's jangling so fucking loudly and he doesn't want to wake up the neighbors because he can't, they can't see him like this, at fuck knows what time in the morning and why won't it just fi-

The door swings forwards. All his weight has been leaning against it, but he barely notices the world spin and topple as he collapses forwards. He notices the feel of a solid person against him, around him only slightly more.

_"Do you ever feel like you're stuck in a dream?"_

"Hey, Kurt? Kurt! Are you- Come on, let's get you inside.."

His weight is shifted for him, and the solidness moves to under his shoulders, around his back, lifting, pulling. There's quiet music coming from somewhere, so soft it could be just in his own head.

He's lowered onto a bed, he knows it's his bed even though it doesn't smell right any more. He can't stay upright, doesn't even try, just lets himself crumple sideways against the pillows.

"Here. Drink this."

A cold glass is pressed against his lips but he twists away from it. It's insistant.

"Come on. You'll thank me for it in the morning."

When it presses again, he opens his mouth obediently, swallows and feels like he's drowning in ice.

_"Have you ever loved someone so much they become your whole life?"_

The glass is taken away. There's warmth as the duvet is pulled over him. A hand lightly touches his forehead.

"I'll leave some aspirin on the dresser, okay?"

_"Have you ever loved someone so much when they're gone, you want to die? But the thought of there being no heaven, no hell, nothing, keeps you from dying because you'd rather live with their memory than die and have nothing?"_

"Get some sleep."


	7. Chapter 7

Well this is getting… Epic. I had honestly planned to have this fic half over by now but it's taken on a life of its own. Honestly, Kurt and Blaine and Adele have got a bear hug on my brain right now and I find it best not to argue with them. I was sort of nervous about posting this part because I've been having tense issues and I'm English writing about something American and there's actually a tiny bloom of romance in this bit! But it's up now, for better or worse. Please be kind and as always, thanks for taking the time to read, review etc.

* * *

7.

Blaine drags the heels of his hands hard over his eyes to try to rub the exhaustion out of them. He's been sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee for maybe half an hour and he's both impatient for Kurt or Adele to wake up and eager for them to stay asleep, to let him sit in this quiet room forever.

Honestly he's bored of being alone. Yet he's dreading Kurt getting up. Although his job is taking care of Adele, and Kurt last night was clearly not going to be able to do that if she woke up in the night or whatever, strictly speaking Blaine was asked to mind her while Kurt was out. And he got back just after 2am. Yet here Blaine sat, five hours later, drinking coffee in somebody else's home.

It felt wrong somehow. Like he was a hugely obvious intruder waiting for eviction. It was also odd, waiting to make breakfast for a hung over man (and his daughter, he has a daughter for God's sake) who despite being someone Blaine found unfairly attractive, they had not actually had sex.

Even though Blaine had all but carried him to bed. And even more intimate that that, he had spoken to Blaine. Really spoken to him, as only a catastrophically drunk person can.

After he'd lowered Kurt underneath the duvet, supported his shoulders so he could make him take a few sips of water, actually allowed himself to lay a hand on his face (he was definitely approaching creepy, stalkery territory) Kurt had opened his eyes, looked straight at him like for a second he was completely, painfully sober and asked "_Have you ever loved someone so much when they're gone, you want to die? But the thought of there being no heaven, no hell, nothing, keeps you from dying because you'd rather live with their memory than die and have nothing?"_

_It was spoken like a plea. Asked as if more than anything, Kurt craved reassurance, to know things could get better.  
_  
Blaine sipped his almost cold coffee and wanted to whine at how unfair life was.

He was just about to put on another pot of coffee, purely out of boredom, when his phone erupted into absurdly loud music in his pocket.  
_  
'Her name is Rio and she dances on the saaand!'_

Shit, oh shit. So damn loud even muffled in his jeans. He pulled it out, glancing only briefly at the name on the screen (Wez) before rejecting the call, then sat for a few seconds, perfectly still and silent, listening. After he was sure there were no sounds of movement coming from either bedroom, he allowed himself to slump back down into the chair with a heavy sigh of relief.

He switched it to vibrate just in time for a text.  
_Wez: Rejected? Ouch, Anderson._

He replied; _Sorry, working!_

A second later, his phone buzzed again; _Suspicious, but ok. Call you on your home number later?_

_I don't know what time I'll be home, sorry. I'll txt you when I am_

A moment's pauses before _Are you with a guy?  
_  
_No. There's someone here but not like that!_  
_  
What?!_

Behind him, he heard the creek of a bed and feet walking on floorboards. Too heavy to belong to Adele. Oh shit.

He quickly typed out _Talk later? Think he's waking up now._ And hit send.

He put his phone back in his jeans just in time to see a new message flash up on his screen-  
_Wez: Knew it!_

Blaine was already pouring coffee into a clean cup before realising he didn't actually know how Kurt took his coffee. Did he like it black, white? If he took sugar, how many did he take? Or did he like some sort of sweetener? He hadn't seen any sweetener lying around the worktops but that didn't mean anything, maybe he kept it in a cupboard or something? And it'd make more sense if Kurt did prefer it because he didn't have the figure of somebody who didn't care about his figure. Blaine swallowed at the thought of his wickedly narrow waist, the one he'd put his arm around when taking him to bed, and the slender thighs Blaine had actually put his hands on when lifting his legs up onto the mattress.

_Think of something else, think of something else_.

So. Right. Sweetener, okay. The most likely place it would be would be in one of the cupboards above the sink.

Blaine pulled it open and stood on his tip toes to try and see higher than the middle shelf. He couldn't see any in there, but maybe it was further back… He needed to get a better look. After a second to glance around for something to use, he settled on dragging a chair over so he could stand on it.

Ahh. Much better. Beneath his socked feet, the chair wobbled and swayed precariously. Not the sturdiest thing, but worth it if he could just find the damn-

"What are you doing?"

Blaine almost jumped out of his skin, a startled cry escaping his mouth before he had the sense to stop it, and lost his balance. The chair rocked forwards, his body falling with it and on the way down, he managed to smack his chin on the sink, hard.

_Smooth Anderson, smooth_.

From a bruised, breathless heap on the tiles, Blaine met Kurt's wide eyes and croaked out "I was umm, looking for sweetener, I'm really so-"

But Kurt had already cut across him. "Oh my God, I'm such an _idiot_, I am so, _so _sorry, oh my God, your face-"

Tentatively, Blaine raised a hand to touch the underneath of his stinging chin and was surprised when his fingers came away wet with blood.

"Oh."

Crouching beside him now, Kurt was pressing a wad of paper towels to his skin. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Oh God, we need to get you to the hospital."

"No. No, I'm fine, honestly-"

So strange to see Kurt's face this close to his own. Even with the bag under his eyes and cracked lips and warm alcohol breath. This close, Blaine could see the tiny creases only just beginning to grow in the corners of his eyes, the delicate feathered shadows cast by his lashes.

"Don't be stupid."

Blaine flinched as Kurt's cool hand wrapped around his own and raised it to replace his own on the paper towels. "Keep the pressure on. I'm going to get Adele up, and we can drop her off with Finn and Rachel on the way. Okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, he rose and

* * *

By the time Blaine was finally allowed to leave A&E with a trio of neat metal stitches holding his cut closed and a white square plaster that seemed unnecessarily big covering it, it seemed like most of the day was already gone.

Kurt clearly realised this and insisted on taking Blaine for a late lunch at one of the dozen or more little coffee shops opposite the park.

Over the top of his grande non-fat mocha, Kurt keeps stealing sheepish glances at Blaine's face. Blaine knows it's just the injury he was interested in, but it still makes him oddly self-conscious, shy that someone was paying him such close attention.

And damn, didn't that make him sound pathetic.

There had been plenty of people who paid him attention. His life revolved around being in the spot light; he needed kids to take notice of what he said, and of course when he was on stage, attention was vital. If every eye was on him while he sang, danced, played his part, then he knew he was doing a good job. Even back in high school, when he'd stood up to say his piece at a Warblers Council meeting, it had been easy to get people to really listen to him.

Yes, he found Kurt attractive, no matter how inappropriate it was but that was no reason for him to feel like a nervous school girl.

"Does it hurt?"

Blaine shakes his head. "Not really, it's a lot better than before." Only half a lie. "How are you doing? Still hungover?"

The corner of Kurt's mouth twitches. "Not really. Funnily enough rushing a man to the hospital is enough to sober you up." He deposits a sachet of brown sugar in his cup and stirs it, before offering Blaine a packet labelled 'Stevia' with a wry smile. "You take sweetener, right?"

Blaine tries not to gawp like a fish. Sugar._ He takes sugar_. Oh God, he is such an _idiot_.

He coughs. "Y-yes. Thank you."

He glances over at the shelves of coffee packages behind the counter, at the dim electric lights, the neat stacks of pastries beside the till, hunting for a way to change the subject. "You know, this place sort of reminds me of one I used to go to when I lived in Ohio."

"You're from Ohio?" Kurt blinks at him incredulously. "Me too! Lima."

"Really? I was in Westerville."

"_West-er-ville_." Kurt drags out the word as if savouring the taste of it on his tongue, staring off into the distance as if it held all the answers. "The only thing I know about Westerville is they had a pretty formidable Glee club when I was at school. The Warblers. "

Blaine grins. "You're looking at one of them."

"You're kidding."

"No, honestly. To this day when I go to visit my parents, no one knows my last name. Everyone just calls me Blaine Warbler. Class of 2013."

"Ha! Then we kicked your ass more than once. I was in The New Directions, class of 2012. We won nationals my senior year. Rachel and Finn were our leads."

"Oh God, I remember! _Rachel_ and _Finn_? God, I even spoke to her backstage to tell her congratulations but all she did was recite Barbara Streisand quotes at me."

Kurt can't keep the smile in. "That sounds like Rachel."

"The Warblers, we thought we were so smooth because we did _Raise Your Glass_, then you destroyed us with _Don't Stop Believing_. None of us thought you were competition when we heard your set list, because hello,_ Journey_? But you were_ good_."

"No, we were incredible. You were good." There's a teasing edge to Kurt's voice, "You don't sing any more then?"

Blaine shrugs. "I do. I just… Don't get as many call backs as I used to. Guess I'm not as ambitious as I used to be. You?"

"I tried to get into NYADA but they rejected me. So I went to work for and I loved it too much to leave. I guess things don't always go the way you planned in high school."

"I guess not."

Blaine tries to remember his show choir days more clearly, The New Directions… But all he can see are fractions of dance routines and blurred faces. He can't picture at all which one could have been Kurt. Even if he could, almost twenty years had passed. Blaine certainly doesn't look like he did when he was a teenager, so why would Kurt?

"I've been thinking," Kurt says, oddly hesitant. "About what's going to happen when I go back to work. I mean, I have to go back. They've been… Really great about me taking time off, but I. I want Adele to go back to school, it's not healthy for her to be at home all the time. I don't want her to miss anything. So, I have to set a good example. And I can't hide away forever."

He took a little breath in, and his eyes flicked back to Blaine's face, then back to his coffee cup. "But I work… Pretty long hours. And Adele finishes school at three. Usually there'd be someone at home for her but… David's gone. So. I guess we have to just get on with it. Would you be interested in looking after her still, when I go back? We can arrange regular hours so it fits everyone's schedule and Adele really likes you. You're good with her. I mean, that's if I've not put you off."

It didn't take long for him to decide. "Yeah. Sure."

Kurt glanced back up, eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

Blaine shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Adele's a sweet kid." _And you are the sweetest, saddest man I've ever met._ "A complete angel compared to some of the other kids I've looked after. So, yeah. I don't see why not."

At that, Kurt seems to instantly relax, breathing out a sigh as his shoulders slump. "Fantastic. That's great, thank you."

"No problem." Blaine smiles.

They fall back into silence, easier this time, both of them contemplating how strange it was that the world could be so small.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This part was impossibly hard to write and is one of those I just had to crank out to get it over with. I think to a great extent all fic writers get involved in their writings and occasionally parts of plots touch raw nerves. So I do apologise if it's not quite up to the same standards as other chapters.

Also; I've had a couple of messages from some lovely folks asking me how long this is going to be (I completely understand reluctance to read WIPs). Roughly, I think it will be around 20 chapters in total but I can't say for sure yet.

Happy reading!

* * *

**8.**

His mother died when he was eight. A woman who Kurt remembered less clearly as he grew older, but still enough to ache in his chest when he thought about her. The smell of her light floral perfume and the way her slender hands looked so elegant as they flicked through a wad of sheet music. A woman who had insisted on her only son's middle name being 'Elizabeth' after her, and her mother and her mother's mother, gender be damned.

"It's my family name.'" She explained with a dry smile when a girl in Kurt's kindergarten with blonde pigtails and ugly, clumpy shoes asked him why he had a girl's name as well as a girl's voice. "You have your daddy's last name so I thought you should have my middle name. And you do not have a girl's voice sweetheart. You have an angel's voice. Now, won't you sing something for me?"

He remembers, more clearly than any of those things, standing under a snow filled sky staring down at a grey engraved stone and newly turned earth, with his dad's hand huge and comforting in his own. His dad doesn't say a word and neither does he. And suddenly, the world doesn't seem so lonely. As long as his dad is there, he knows he'll be alright.

It strikes him that the way he stands now, silent and still, with Adele's small fingers curled tightly around his own, is identical.

It makes him feel old and calm and unshakeable as a mountain. He has always believed his dad would take care of him. Now it's his turn to make Adele believe in him.

Around them, people in black cry and sniff and cough and shuffle their feet and try to work out who's going in what car or cab to the wake, eager to get out of the sun. It doesn't take long for the numbers at the freshly dug grave to drop as people head off. After all, there's not a lot to do after a burial.

Eventually, even Rachel and Finn leave, ushered away by Burt to give them their space.

Kurt raises his eyes. There's no snow this time around; it's the wrong time of year. Instead it's absurdly hot for an autumn afternoon and Kurt can feel the sweat prickle on his face. He fans himself with the order of service, not caring any more if it looks undignified. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the breeze it creates ruffle the hair around Adele's pink cheeked face, her eyes fixed on him, rather determinedly.

She's been oddly quiet today. She hasn't shed a single tear. But Kurt has noticed her staring at him intently all day. He doesn't know what for. Adele, his baby, his pride and joy has always been a thoughtful girl.

Then again, maybe he'd got something on his face at breakfast and she'd been staring at that, with the honest tactlessness of a child, whilst nobody else had had the heart to tell him.  
He squeezes her hand.

"Something on your mind, sweetheart?"

She squeezes back. For a moment she doesn't reply, but she frowns, like she's trying to work something out. Kurt waits.

Eventually she says "You haven't cried today." It's almost but not quite an accusation.

The realisation that she's right stuns him for a second. He hasn't cried. It's the first day he hasn't since the accident itself- no, he cried the day before that too because Rachel had convinced him to go see her perform yet again in Les Mis, and how could he not cry at that? But that was a different kind of crying anyway.

He hadn't cried today, on what should have been perhaps the saddest day of all. Because by now it had sunk in, become real. Today was the day to say goodbye. He hadn't even cried when he'd stood at the front of the chapel and said his piece about David's life. Their life.

Kurt had thought long and hard about what to say. How could you say, in a room full of respectably dressed and sweating and grieving people, what a good man David was? How could he compress into a single small reading everything David had accomplished? How could he explain how much of a misery David had made his life in high school, only to make it so happy and so precious after they graduated? How could he say anything comforting to these people, when he had lost his husband, his best friend and Adele had lost a parent?

So he chickened out. He did the expected thing and read an E.E. Cummings poem; 'I Carry Your Heart With me, I Carry It In My Heart'. It was a personal favourite of Kurt's and seemed appropriate. But David had never been remotely interested in poetry. It felt like a cowardly thing to read in its neutrality. But at least it was done now.

Kurt hadn't cried either when he had been met by streaming eyed aunts and uncles and cousins who had flown in from God-knows-where. He had been too busy concentrating on being polite and making all the right small talk.

"No, I haven't." he says.

"Why?"

"Because…" He thought for so long that Adele squeezed his hand again in impatience. "Because your Daddy wouldn't want us to be sad forever. There are still hundreds of fun things for us to do, even though he's not here anymore."

"Like what?"

"Li-i-ike," he dragged out the syllable to buy himself a little extra time to think. "Like, karaoke and getting ice cream. And going on holiday. You and me, we've not been to England yet. We could go there some day."

Adele seemed to mull it over. "We've never been to France either."

"Yes we have, sweetheart. But I guess you won't remember. We went to Paris when you were a baby. I had to go for Fashion Week, but you and your Daddy came too, like a holiday."

"I don't remember."

"I think we still have the photos somewhere. I can dig them out when we get home and show you, if you like? That's another fun thing we could do."

She looked up at him suspiciously, like she was still trying to work out where this new, less emotional version of her dad had come from. "Okay."

* * *

The wake was held in the large function room at the back of a bar David had regularly frequented. It had been his hide away, where he went to watch all the major football games with his friends and a beer. He hadn't had much choice really. Kurt could occasionally tolerate sports on their TV at home but if it clashed with one of Adele's beloved cartoons or one of Rachel and Kurt's infamous musical-marathon nights, then out David would go.

On these nights, Finn would often accompany him, keen to escape Rachel's crazy female brain for a few hours. Occasionally the pair would get obscenely drunk together. On nights like those, one of their spouses would usually get a phone call involving barely understandable football chanting and dramatically loud declarations of love.

It was, predictably, a sombre event. David's relatives who hadn't seen each other since the last family event (probably as far back as when Adele was born) had hushed, civil conversations about how they were doing while David's friends awkwardly picked at the modest buffet, looking entirely uncomfortable in their shirts and ties.

At their little table in the corner, Kurt sat with his dad, Adele, Finn and Rachel, delicately picking at half a cheese and spinach sandwich.

"I'm going back to work on Monday." He says.

"You are?" Rachel asks. She's pulling the same face she did when Kurt told her he wouldn't be reapplying for NYADA. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Kurt shrugs. "You were the one who told me to get out more."

"I know and I meant it but I… I meant like, to get coffee or something I didn't mean jump straight back into things."

"Rachel. Don't worry." He absently ran his finger up the side of his glass to wipe off a little of the condensation. "Honestly, I miss working. I'm _bored_. And Adele has to go back to school so it's better we get into a good routine at the same time."

"What?" Adele was staring up at him with huge betrayed eyes. "I have to go back to _school_?"

Kurt reached across to where she sat, between Rachel and Burt, to wipe a quiche crumb from her chin. "I'm afraid so sweetheart."

"But I don't want to!"

"Tough. School is good for you. Don't you miss your friends?"

"Yes." Adele sulked, slouching with her arms folded. "But I don't miss classes."

"It's not up for discussion."

She glares. Kurt remains unimpressed; after all, she learned that expression from him.

"What about evenings?" Burt asks.

"I've already spoken to Blaine and he's agreed to watch her on a long term basis."

"That's great. Good for you, kid."

"You know what that means, Dad?"

Burt sits back to regard him coolly. "I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

Kurt took a breath to steady himself before saying, firmly "It means you can go home."

For a moment nobody spoke. Burt looks at his son, at his granddaughter and back again, his mouth opening and closing while he worked out what to say. Eventually he settles on "You're sure?"

Kurt nods, determined. "I'm sure. Adele and I are going to get on with our lives. So should you."


	9. Chapter 9

9.

In Blaine's shoebox of an apartment in Brooklyn, Wez is doing his serious face reminiscent of his gavel-banging Warbler days.

"I can't believe you're hiding your new boyfriend from me." He says, sounding offended.

Blaine sighs, frustrated. Wez in these moods is stubborn beyond belief. He had been hoping for a nice, soothing catch up with his best friend before he had to go pick Adele up from school that afternoon. Well, so much for that. "I told you, Kurt's not my boyfriend. I watch his daughter, that's all."

"Oh, it's _Kurt_, is it?"

An idea strikes him. "I don't suppose you remember a glee club called New Directions, do you? From-"

"Lima, Ohio." Wez finishes for him, "Their leads were Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson and they beat us at sectionals my senior year." He shrugs when he sees Blaine's incredulous expression. "What? I never forget a respectable opponent." Unsurprising, seeing as Wez was now a music teacher who coached his own show choir. "What about them?"

"Kurt was with them. And Finn is his step brother."

"Hey, small world. Maybe it's fate. Which one was he?" Wez frowned thoughtfully. "Did he have any solos?"

Blaine chewed his lip. "I didn't ask. I don't think so."

"Huh. You know, I have the DVD lying around at my place somewhere if you want me to lend you it?"

For a moment, Blaine actually considers it. Thinking about Kurt as a sixteen year old boy, long before his partner's death had turned him into a melancholic, defensive man, is definitely appealing. Maybe he and Kurt had spoken back then, and seeing the old footage would bring the memory back. Maybe then he could remind Kurt about it when he came home from work that evening. The last time they had spoken about high school and discovered the link between them, Kurt had seemed so… Happy.

Then he hears Wez trying to hide his sniggering and decides against it. "No thanks." Besides, watching videos of teenage boys half his age was sort of creepy right?

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"What's the situation with his daughter then?" Wez probes further. " Mistaken heterosexual fling? Because you know, everyone makes mistakes when they're young. I remember a certain someone who went through a bisexual phase."

Blaine cringes inwardly. Blaine's 'bisexual phase' was the source of much personal embarrassment. When he was fifteen, and already openly gay, he had had a brief few weeks of confusion after meeting a girl from a rival and ridiculously named glee club called Oral Intensity who bullheadedly believed she and Blaine were dating after a brief conversation about their shared love of Grease. Blaine had gone along with it for a while, groping for his last shot at a 'normal', conventional life that his parents accepted. Until one fateful day she had plucked up the courage to actually _kiss_ him and he had realised he and girls just did not work. Period.

To this day, when talking to his old school mates about his relationship troubles there would always be somebody (usually Wez or Jeff) who would smirk wickedly and ask if he still had that girl's number.

"It's not that." Blaine snaps. "It's… Complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Awkwardly, Blaine examines his hands, knotting and unknotting in his lap. "Adele's other dad. He's not around anymore."

Wez raises an eyebrow in confusion. "So? That's good. He's single. You both like singing and children so you can just tell him how you feel already and skip off over the rainbow together. Case closed."

"No." Blaine shakes his head. "He's… Kurt's husband. He died. Less than a month ago."

For a moment, Wez is stunned to near silence. "Ah."

"Yeah."

"Jesus, Blaine." Wez mutters. He rests his head wearily on his palms. "Can you… I don't know, can you not just quit? Maybe some distance between you will help you… Move on. Transfer your feelings to another guy."

The thought of leaving Kurt and Adele alone is an unpleasant one. How could he do that? Adele was a cute kid, with surprisingly good manners and too much energy and toes she loved to point in ballet shoes as she danced around the living room. And _Kurt._ Right now, they both needed him to try to stabilise their new, chaotic life. Blaine had already become too attached to them both to go anywhere. And besides, he needed the work.

"I can't." he says simply.

Wez sighs, as if Blaine is being deliberately difficult. "What are you going to do then?" he asks. "Because I know you, Blaine Warbler. I haven't seen you this… This_ insane_ and irrational since Jeremiah. Do I need to remind you how that ended?"

"I know, I know." Blaine says miserably. "I just. I can't help it."

"Then you wait."

"For what?"

Wez shrugs. "A miracle."

* * *

Blaine sits on the brick wall beside the school gates and waits for Adele to finish her last class. It's the first time he's had to come to this particular school but it's no different from any of the others in the area. Around him, tired looking mothers, some with strollers or older children chat in pairs and small groups. There are only a few other men there, and all of them are accompanied by their wives. Blaine doesn't mind. He likes female company.

Well, _most_ female company.

A few feet away, a dark haired woman in a white sun dress and sandals asks her blonde friend in an absurdly loud whisper "Did you hear about Adele's father, Jodie?"

"Which one?" Jodie's pretty, pale face is made instantly uglier by her sneer.

The dark haired one snorts with laughter. "_Honestly_. I mean the _father-father_."

"Go on."

Blaine really wishes he could be anywhere else on the planet right now. The father-father? Even in New York, it sometimes shocked him how closed minded people could be. And now David's death was going to be turned into gossip for bored suburban housewives. The thought made him feel physically sick.

"He _died_."

"Never!"

Instead of looking sad, the first woman appeared smug that she was the first to tell Jodie the news. She leaned in to hiss into her ear, still loud enough for Blaine and the few parents surrounding them to hear. "Car crash."

"Really? Well, at least the other one might get mistaken for a single parent now. Well he _is_, but you know what I mean. From the outside at least, it'll look like poor little Adele has a _normal_ family. It might be a blessing in disguise."

"_Jo_, you can't say things like that." Her friend replies, obviously delighted.

Blaine ground his teeth, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It was growing increasingly hard to hold his tongue. But he had more than himself to think about now, there was Kurt and Adele. Anything he said would only add fuel to the fire. His best option, he knew, was not to cause a scene. It was to keep quiet and take the high road.

No matter how much it hurt.

"Blaine!" Adele cried from across the playground.

Blaine had been so wrapped up in trying not to react, he hadn't even noticed her emerge from the main doors. He waved and slid down off the wall to give her a hug. "Hey." He grinned. "How was school?"

Adele beamed. "We learned about the rainforest!"

"Really? That's cool! You ready to go home?"

"Yeah. "

"You want me to carry your bag?"

Adele, ever the independent girl, shakes her head. "It's okay."

As she leads the way out onto the street, Blaine can't help noticing several pairs of eyes on him. It isn't hard to tell they must be wondering who he is and what he might know about Kurt and David. Is he a relative perhaps? A collegue?

Jodie and her friend are among the watchers. Blaine turns his back to them and walks closer to Adele, in the hope his own body will shield her a little from their stares. He might have heard what was being said about her parents, but Blaine was going to do his damned best to make sure Adele never had to.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I wanted to take a sec to give y'all from outside the UK some great, non-fic related news. The same sex marriage bill in England & Wales has passed its second reading in parliament! There's still a third reading left to go, but as it stands, we're on track for gay marriage to be legalised in summer 2014. My little romantic homo heart is very, very happy right now!  
Yay for basic human rights!

* * *

10.

Kurt finds it surprisingly easy to slip back into his old morning routine. Even if it's lonely now, having to wake up in a huge, empty bed and hear nothing, have no one to talk to this early, he busies himself in small, menial tasks.

He showers, and tries not to notice the black and navy bottles on the edge of the bath that don't belong to him. He cleans his teeth in front of the mirror and absolutely does not let his eyes linger on the no longer necessary toothbrush. Back in their, _his_ bedroom he pushes aside shirts and trousers too large and frankly too distinctly _masculine _for him to ever wear to get to his own clothes. And he refuses to admit, even to himself, that he misses a familiar voice teasing him about his ozone-destroyingly excessive use of hairspray.

He gets so wrapped up in this, in determinedly trying not to let the silence bother him, that he doesn't realise he's made two cups of coffee until he's already set them down on the kitchen table. He tips the extra drink down the sink, and as he turns on the tap to rinse David's beloved old Yankee's mug, Kurt is especially proud of himself for not crying.

As he sits, flicking through a copy of _Vogue Paris_ he had delivered weeks ago, he feels increasingly nervous about going back to work. Maybe Rachel was right; maybe it was too soon. Just wondering from room to room was emotional enough. It consumed so much of his energy. But maybe that's why work would be better for him. David had never visited him there, so there would be no glaring physical reminders of his absence. Kurt would be free to bury himself in his work. It had to be better than hanging around the apartment all day, surrounded by eerie stillness.

Reading the magazine though, was only making him realise how far behind he must be getting. Apparently in France, midi skirts and sharp tailoring were coming back into fashion. The soft peaches, clean whites and baby blues of summer were being replaced by autumn's russet and mustard trends. Kurt hadn't so much as glanced at any recent _Red_ or _Elle_ covers. How the Hell was he supposed to know how to dress this month's models?

At 7am, he gave up and flipped the magazine closed. It was too late now; he'd already made up his mind. Last night he'd waved his dad off at the airport. It had been surprisingly unemotional. Burt just hugged him tightly and said "Take care, won't you? If you need anything, we're only a phone call away."

"I know, Dad. Thank you." Kurt said, his arms stretched around the broad back. "We'll be okay."

He would just have to rely on his own impeccable taste and hope what he put together would be considered either safe enough to be 'classic' or wildly off mark enough to be 'cutting edge'. As long as he didn't go completely mad and dress anyone in double denim or kitten heels, he should be okay.

He rose, and went to knock on Adele's bedroom door. Inside, she was still sleeping soundly in her nest of pink sheets. Kurt crossed to the window to pull open the curtains. "Good morning, sleeping beauty. It's time for school!"

Adele grumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, still curled up tightly as a chrysalis.

"Hey, come on now." Kurt chides. "You don't want to be late on your first day back, do you?"

After half an hour of continual nagging and tugging, Kurt manages at long last to get his stubborn daughter up, dressed and fed. As he plaits her hair, he says "You'll call me, won't you? If… If you get too sad or… Or you just want to come home?"

"I want to go home now." Adele whines.

Kurt smiles. "Don't be silly." He says "You haven't even got there yet."

He winds a length of lilac ribbon over the hair tie. "And be on your best behaviour tonight. Blaine is coming over to look after you. I'll be back around six."

"I thought you didn't like Blaine." Adele says, "You got really mad at Aunt Rachel for saying he could come over."

"Well, things change." Kurt replies. "Blaine's a nice person. You like him, don't you?"

She nods. A few blonde wisps had already come loose to hang around her round, pink cheeks.

"That's settled then." Kurt says and lightly kisses her forehead. "Now go get your coat."

Blaine… He did like Blaine. Instinctively, Kurt trusted him more than he would usually trust any man he wasn't related to. To be willing enough to leave Adele in his care, his baby girl who was the most important thing in the entire world to him, whose fragility Kurt had become more aware of than ever, that puzzled him. He supposed it must be because of his glowing resume. But no. It was more than that. Blaine just seemed so ridiculously_ likeable_, with his easy, relaxed smiles and relentless optimism.

And his charming clumsiness, of course. He had almost given Kurt a heart attack when he'd fallen off that damned chair, but Kurt was almost glad. If it wasn't for that, they wouldn't have had coffee last week and Kurt had surprised himself by enjoying talking to him. Blaine was… Sweet. In another life, Kurt might have found him dangerously attractive.

In another life. One were Kurt didn't have a six year old to take care of and a dead husband he remained deeply, irrevocably in love with.

He rubs a hand across his face on the way out. Clearly, it was just going to be one of those days.

* * *

Stepping out of the spacious glass walled elevator Kurt knew he had done the right thing in coming back so quickly. He had missed his job. He'd missed the building with its huge windows and chic minimalist furniture and it's elegantly dressed staff. He'd missed this sense of purpose and of belonging to a world outside his family.

His modest office was the same as it was the last time he'd been here. The only exceptions were the neat rows of multi coloured post it notes stuck to his desk, beside a small pile of envelopes.

He sits down, and one by one, pulls off the memos and reads them. Tomorrow he's scheduled to meet Amber Astlie, one of their newest young models, for the first fitting for her cover shoot so he probably needs to visit the wardrobes today so he's not throwing something together last minute. He also needs to call back Louis from Valentino to discuss their upcoming winter collection. There's also a shorter, far less professionally scrawled note from Isabelle, informing him she'd be dropping in that afternoon.

Isabelle used to be his boss, way back when he first started working for Vogue but since then he'd transferred from his internet-based internship to work as a stylist, and the two of them had remained close friends. Isabelle had always been more than just an employer to him; when he first moved to New York he was eighteen, with no plans for the future, living in a tiny, cold apartment in Bushwick and the only person he knew in the entire city was Rachel, and she poured all of her time into trying to impress her NYADA dance teacher, the notorious Cassie July. Kurt couldn't blame her for that, but it had made him feel incredibly alone.

Isabelle had shown an interest in him outside of working hours. She'd introduced him to her favourite cocktail bars, the best thrift stores, the most talented hidden gems in the city's amateur theatre groups. When David had come back into his life, she had insisted on taking them out to dinner and she'd been there, with over spilling tears on their wedding day.

_Lethal thought. So much for 'there's nothing in work that would make me think of him'_.

Hesitantly, he reaches for the envelope closest to him. As predicted, it was another 'In Sympathy' card. He promptly scrapes all of them, still sealed, into the back of his desk drawer. He considers simply throwing them out straight away, but thinks better of it. Maybe he'll want to read them, one day. If his colleagues have taken the time to send him a card, the least he could do was read them.

But not today.

At the time he'd usually go for his lunch break, Kurt remains at his desk, trying to get his schedule in some kind of order. Being back at work was one thing, but just the thought of going down to the cafeteria and being surrounded by concerned faces asking how he was seemed too overwhelming. He knew they would mean well, but right now he just didn't think he was up for it.

By the time he'd almost got through his impossibly long list of unread emails, Isabelle was knocking on his door, carrying a pair of polystyrene cups and a brown paper bag from the bakery across the street.

"Well, hello there." She smiles, "I thought you might want some coffee and bagels?"

"You're a God send, thank you." He replies, closing the lid of his Mac.

She perches lightly on the corner of his desk, completely ignoring the plush white seats beside the low glass coffee table. "I'm not interrupting am I?"

"It's impossible to interrupt when you bring bagels." Kurt returns, and folds the bag open. The smell of hot butter is more than enough to make his stomach growl.

"I thought so." Isabelle laughs. Then her expression becomes more sober. She takes a sip of her coffee before asking "So, how are you? We've missed you."

Kurt shrugs. "I'm okay." He says. "I'm… You know, getting on with things. Adele's back at school today, so. We'll get there. "

Isabelle nods approvingly. "That's good to hear, honey. And listen, if you ever need anything… To talk, or just to go out for a few drinks- you know where I am."

"I know," he says, "I appreciate it."

He sinks his teeth into the warm bread and tries not to groan out loud. Out of everything he's missed, he thinks he's missed these bagels the most. He swallows.

"So," he says with a brightness he hopes doesn't sound too artificial, "What have I missed?"

* * *

Kurt has never been so glad to be home in his life. Finally, he doesn't have to politely avoid personal topics or see anyone wince when they mention their own home life.

He arrives to the delicious smell of spices cooking which leads him straight to the kitchen. Adele is sat fiddling with what Kurt can only assume is Blaine's iphone while Blaine himself stands at the gas hobs stirring a bubbling pan with a wooden spoon. The two of them are chattering away like the best of friends.

"Can we watch a movie later?" asks Adele.

"Sure, if it's okay with your dad. Why, what d'you want to watch?"

She pauses for a second before concluding "Harry Potter!"

"Oh yeah?" Suddenly, Blaine whirls away from the food and throws out his right arm, still tightly gripping the spoon. "Expelliarmus!" causing Adele to explode into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. It's a lovely, welcome sound and Kurt realises he hasn't heard her this happy in far too long.

"Blaine, are you threatening my daughter?"

The man flushed scarlet as a drip of sauce landed on the tiles. "Um," he waved the spoon a little more limply in greeting "Hi. I didn't hear you come in."

Kurt grins like a Cheshire cat. "I can see that."

"Daddy!" Adele bounds over to throw her arms around his waist. "You're home!"

"Hey, sweetheart." He hugs her back. "How was school?"

"Good." She says, pulling away.

"And have you been good for Blaine?"

"Yeah!"

Kurt chuckles. "That's my girl." He pulls off his slim silk tie and throws it through the doorway in the direction of the living room couch. "Something smells nice."

"Blaine's making curry." Adele all but sings.

"You didn't have to, you know." Kurt says softly. "I would have made something."

Blaine shrugs, turning back to the food. "Don't be silly." He says cheerily, "It's all part of the service. Sit down, it'll only be five minutes."

Kurt ignores the request. "At least let me set the table." He says, and reaches for the cutlery drawer. "Adele, do you want to help?"

"Sure." She says. She accepts the knives and forks Kurt passes her and lays them down neatly. The way she pauses to make sure they're perfectly straight makes Kurt's heart melt. Attention to detail was something she'd picked up from him, somewhere along the way.

True to his word, it's not long until Blaine brings over the bowls of brown rice and chicken korma. Seeing Adele tuck into her meal with gusto, and Blaine beside her with his hands summer-tanned against the white table cloth, his dark eyes glittering in amusement, Kurt thinks, absurdly, _I could get used to this_.


End file.
